


Evermore

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Ghost Sex, Haunting, Horror, Sibling Incest, so dubious that it's probably non-con tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: Petunia investigates a mysterious sound, and gets more than she bargained for.





	Evermore

"Get to work," Petunia called out the kitchen window. Her nephew—ungrateful little brat—dawdled about the garden, kicking about an old, airless football of Dudley's. He glanced up at her, shook his bangs out of his eyes, and abandoned the ball for the garden hose. Good. No cheek today.

Petunia closed the window—too hot to keep it open—and turned the radio to a midmorning talk show. Vernon would have called it boring woman nonsense, but she found it quite soothing. Housewives from all over the county called in with questions and complaints about housework, husbands, and children. Petunia herself never bothered to call in. Listening to others' misfortunes was quite satisfying enough.

"Hello, Mrs. Stanley, how may we help you today?" the host queried.

"My rhododendrons will not grow! I've done everything in the little book that came with 'em when I planted them—"

Her words faded into static. When Petunia went to readjust the dial, nothing came through. All the stations had gone out.

How odd.

She turned off the radio in disappointment and went to browse the television channels. Static filled the screen, however, when she switched it on. She switched it off, shaking her head in disgust.

In the silence that followed, she thought she heard— but no. It was quiet except for the sound of Harry in the garden. She listened for a moment more, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. And then there was a _thump_.

Her head came up. It sounded like it had come from the boy's cupboard. She tiptoed from the sitting room and into the hall, wrenching the door open to find—

Nothing. Of course. It was just her imagination. Nothing there.

And then she heard the sound again, farther down the hall. From the guest room? She stood for a moment, wondering if she should follow it.

It was a hot day, but she was shivering.

Maybe it was the boy's freakishness, somehow, manifesting in the house even while he wasn't in it. She needed to find out what was happening, so she could reprimand him properly when he finished watering and weeding the garden. So into the guest room she went. And, as before, there was nothing to see…

The attic door was _ajar_.

She and Vernon never went up there. They'd tossed some old things of her parents' in after they'd died in that attack just after Dudley was born. She never thought about it or talked about it. Best to forget it. They'd loved Lily so much, and look where it had gotten them. Her kind had killed them.

The attic door creaked.

Had Vernon gone up there? Neither of the children knew where the key was kept. Who else could it be?

The door groaned outward.

Petunia rubbed feeling back into her freezing hands and frowned at the sight of the flight of stairs, rising away into dusty darkness.

She'd needed to find out what was up there. No freakishness should be able to lurk in her house. She squared her shoulders and began to climb the stairs, which squeaked with each step. She sneezed several times, then brought her sleeve up to her mouth so as not to breathe in the dust of a decade.

_Petunia._

A whisper. Petunia ground her teeth to stop them from chattering and climbed the last step into the attic.

There was a small window in an upper corner, which let in just enough light to see the stack of boxes, undisturbed from how they'd thrown them in here eight years ago. And yet it was cold enough up here for ice to form on the window pane.

_Petunia._

"Who's there?" Petunia hissed. She felt a faint tug at her hair, and reached up to bat whatever it was away. Her hand met with nothing.

_Petunia._

The voice was behind her. She spun around, and just as she did so, the door slammed shut.

And there, in front of her stood her sister.

Petunia put a hand over her mouth and let out a whimper. Lily smiled, but it was not kind.

"It's been a while."

"You're dead!" Petunia snapped, her fear giving way to rage. "Why are you bothering me? I said I was done with you!"

Lily came closer still. She appeared solid to Petunia's uneducated eye. “You can see me?” She hissed the question, like a breeze, like a sharp little squall just before a blizzard.

"Of course I can see you. Why shouldn't I? I'm going mad!"

"If only you could claim that excuse." Lily's touch froze her to her marrow. "But you're not mad, Tuney. And yet you treat Harry so."

"It's for his own good," Petunia gasped. "He's better off without that freakishness. We vowed to train it out of him."

"It doesn't work like that. How would you feel if it was me raising Dudley the way you've 'raised' Harry?"

"It would never happen," Petunia snarled. "I wouldn't have gotten myself blown up." Like her parents had, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, except all they had done was to live their lives. All they'd done was send Lily off to that horrible school. That's where all the trouble had started. And she'd met that Snape boy and…

No help for any of it.

"I loved you, Petunia," Lily said, almost conversationally. "You were my sister. You killed that spider that was in my bed that one night when I was five. You showed me how to swing in the park. You watched me when mum and dad went to London when mum needed to go to hospital."

"I did." All of that had been before the freakishness, before Lily had truly become their parents' favorite. Before Snape. Before their war. She felt her eyes prick and blinked several times to stop any tears from falling.

Lily pressed her face close to Petunia's. Petunia could see her golden eyelashes, her faint dusting of freckles. How was it that she had gotten their aunt's looks, while Petunia had not? Petunia, the mirror-image of their mother. She'd been picked on at school for it sometimes, especially by neighbor children who knew Lily, who invited Lily to play their games, who—

_Get away from me_ , she thought. But Lily only pushed closer. She was not solid, Petunia finally realized.

"If you can see me, then you have some magic in you," Lily hissed. "Non-magical folk can't see ghosts at all."

"Fat lot of good that does me." But she felt a faint stir of satisfaction to hear this. "Just not enough magic to get me in to your awful school, was it?"

Lily didn't answer. She gazed at Petunia, unblinking, her eyes like the boy's, accusing. Petunia squeezed hers shut.

"No, keep watching me, Tuney. I won't let you hide from what you've done." Lily's arms went around her shoulders, Lily's breath frigid against her face.

Petunia remembered, suddenly, the last time they'd spoken face to face. Lily was newly married; Petunia and Vernon had yet to tie the knot, but her pregnancy was just starting to show. They had shouted, had kissed, had…

It was not what sisters were ever meant to do. And it had been their farewell.

Petunia buried a hand in Lily's hair and yanked. Lily, ghost that she was, didn't make any sign of having felt it. Instead, she thrust her face even closer, and Petunia felt as if her head had been plunged into ice water. And then one of Lily's knees rose, between Petunia's legs.

It had started like this before, but Petunia had wanted it then. Now, she felt nothing but cold. "Lily, why?"

"I can't feel anything," Lily admitted, "but I will do anything for my baby. If you promise me that you will care for him the way I would have, then I will go and never trouble you again."

Petunia bit her lip, thrusting forward. There was no pleasure in it, but she wished, and remembered…

Lily's warm fingers at her clit, gentle and precise, Lily's warm breath, Lily's sweet scent, Lily's tears.

"I can't promise that!" Petunia shrieked. "I won't! He's a freak, just like you." And there was a traitorous part of her—that little girl who once taught Lily to swing—that could not stomach Lily's promise of _no more trouble_.

"He's just a child," Lily retorted. "You don't treat your brat that way. I wouldn't have treated your brat that way." Her cold tongue was in Petunia's mouth, and Petunia didn't try to pull away in order to reply. Easier to partake in this farce of a kiss. Easier to press her hand against Lily's hip and to dig in her nails, imagining the streaks of blood that would have blossomed before.

"If you don't change, I will never leave you!" Lily threatened when they stepped apart.

"So be it," Petunia spat.

When she left the attic to check Harry’s progress, she felt the cold of Lily at her shoulder. She would feel it evermore.


End file.
